How Far We've Come
by FreelanceDreamer
Summary: My submission for the Winter MystradeExchange for SwimmingbirdRunningrock. Mycroft does some reminiscing about his first encounter with the charming Gregory Lestrade.


**A.N. **Well this is my submission for the Winter Mystrade Exchange. This little story is for SwimmingbirdRunningrock – you can find them on Ao3 under "Swimmingbird" and there's some Sherlock fanfiction you should probably go read (after you finish this of course!). I'm not one for AUs but something about a prompt I saw on Tumblr inspired this so here we are – enjoy.

* * *

Mycroft couldn't believe his bad fortune. He thought he'd made the admirable choice of fast-tracking his post-secondary education so he'd be able to finish a year ahead of his peers and start working, and although he endeavoured to do so he almost hesitated when he found out he'd have to take some summer courses at The Queen Mary University of London. He hadn't had much of a choice, although it wasn't a necessary prerequisite, a bachelor of law with honours was going to aid him in the line of work he planned to pursue. His current flat was nearby so the commute to campus was negligible considering it was a modestly ranked school.

Never, in his wildest imagination however, had he considered what the people would be like.

God. _The people._

The school he attended regularly were full of people like him – full of ambition, intelligent, and _silent._ Students here were loud, rambunctious, and foolhardy, at least there were from the small sample that was his class. From what he could discern a majority of the students were young men getting their law degree before they continued on to the rest of the requirements needed to become a police officer. There were other students of course – but when outnumbered such as they were it didn't really matter.

It also didn't help that a lot of the students were older than he was. At 21 years old Mycroft was one of the younger people in the room, a side effect of an advanced intelligence which allowed him to bypass most of the remedial classes in his first year which is how he'd ended up in a third year class.

A class for which he was going to be late, this is the price he paid for deciding to have a class in the evening which ensured his commute was during the rush hour traffic as people tried to get home from work, school, or whatever they had been doing that day. Of course it would happen that the one day he's late for class would be the last class of the semester, and although he hardly needed it he still didn't wish to miss the review his professor would most likely give.

By the grace of God – although Mycroft himself was not a believer – he was able to get to class before his professor, who had himself been caught in the traffic. The lecture hall was almost full, and he was forced to take a seat neat the back of the class. He busied himself with preparing to take notes while trying valiantly to block out everyone's useless and trivial chatter; he couldn't believe what some people concerned themselves with. Mycroft believe his mind would rot within minutes if he ever paid attention to half of what his peers socialized about.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by someone taking a seat next to him and when he looked over he was immediately struck by the figure that stood there. Standing just short of six feet tall stood a young man with dark brown hair and brown eyes Mycroft thought he might be able to drown in. The grin – that Mycroft would never admit he found entirely too sexy – revealed a set of impossibly white teeth (although yellowing at the gums suggested chronic smoking) contrasted by the slight tan on his face that hinted at a recent weekend away to someplace warm. Mycroft belatedly realized that the man had spoken and shook his head slightly to clear to thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft asked after clearing his throat.

The man chuckled, "Just wondered if the seat was taken is all."

Mycroft shook his head and gestured to the empty chair while trying to remain impassive, "No, feel free."

"Cheers. I'm Greg by the way – Greg Lestrade."

Mycroft inclined his head by way of greeting and shook the offered hand, "Mycroft Holmes."

In the time it took to simply shake hands Mycroft had already deduced a few things about Gregory. Judging by the accent he'd been born in Somerset, he was older than Mycroft – probably about twenty-four, the calluses on his hands indicated labour work (whether from home renovation or sport Mycroft couldn't tell), the stray grey hairs at his temples hinted at a genetic predisposition to premature greying, and judging by the coffee and dark circles under his eyes he'd spent the previous night doing more than just studying.

"Nice to meet you Mycroft, have you been in this class all term? Don't think I've see you before."

Mycroft nodded, "I have indeed although I'm usually here early enough to garner a seat near the front."

Another grin flashed across Gregory's face and Mycroft fought against the ridiculous urge to blush.

"I don't doubt that – something about you makes me feel like you should be teaching the class, not attending it."

Mycroft smirked but said nothing. Glancing up to the front of the class he was surprised the professor had not yet arrived. He idly wondered if the class would be cancelled, and what they would mean about their review.

His attention was brought back to the present by the sound of a drink can being opened and he arched an eyebrow when he saw Gregory pouring a _Kick Energy _drink into his coffee.

"I'm going to die," Gregory said solemnly and before Mycroft could protest had swallowed a large mouthful.

Mycroft stared at him for a moment and when the hilarity of the scenario finally dawned on him he could do nothing more but throw his head back and laugh. The laughter took over him and he was sure people were looking at him but he didn't care. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so freely and unabashedly but what Gregory had done had just been so _ridiculous_…

When he finally calmed down enough to look back over at Gregory he was relieved to see him laughing as well.

"Bloody hell that was awful," Gregory groaned.

Mycroft chuckled, "I should think so. Mind you I'm glad for the confirmation."

Gregory made a face, "Oh I don't feel so well."

"There's so much caffeine in your system you won't sleep for days," Mycroft drawled even though he did have some sympathy for his new acquaintance.

"Maybe I'll make good use of it and study, this final is going to be absolute murder."

Mycroft made a soft sound of agreement before gesturing to the front of the room, "Especially given the fact that we've no professor at out last class."

Gregory frowned and glanced at his watch. Mycroft had the perfect view of watching the older man's eyes become comically large.

"Christ! It's already half past and we've still not got a professor. I'm beginning to wonder if we all shouldn't just go home, they can't expect us to wait here forever."

"Looks like others have come to the same conclusion," Mycroft remarked as they watched a group of students pack up their belongings and leave.

"Well? Think we should join them?" Gregory asked.

Mycroft's brow furrowed, "I'm sorry?"

"Well, I don't mean literally join them but I don't really feel like waiting anymore."

"Oh," Mycroft said softly. "Yes I suppose that would be wise given the circumstances."

Gregory smirked and started packing away his own things and Mycroft watched him for an additional minute before turning his attention towards his own notes. A small part of him wished he'd met Gregory before the last class. Even though he hadn't a chance with the handsome student it still would have given him something nice to look at during the long and tedious lectures.

"You coming?"

Mycroft's expression must have been enough to ask what he never got the chance to voice because Gregory simply shrugged.

"I'm a dead man remember? You wouldn't make a dead man eat his last supper alone, would you?"

Mycroft couldn't help but laugh again at the expression on his face and nodded his agreement.

"Well, it _would _be terribly rude of me to leave you alone in such a time."

* * *

"With an expression like that you'd better be thinking about me."

Mycroft felt himself ripped from the memory he'd been reliving and back into present day. Across the table Greg's expression was one of amusement but there was a hint of curiosity.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Mycroft asked.

Greg quirked an eyebrow in confusion but Mycroft watched as realization dawned on his face.

"That drink was truly awful," Greg said after a moment.

Mycroft chuckled, "It's not like anyone forced your hand."

"Well I mean something good did come of it. I got a dinner date with you."

"That was not a date," Mycroft protested.

"It would have been had you not disappeared after our finals without a trace. If it hadn't have been for me finding Sherlock in that alley all those years later we never would have gotten a second first date."

Mycroft frowned and reached across the table to take Greg's hand in his. Age and work had roughened the skin but it was still somehow the same as in his first memory.

Greg squeezed his hand, "I wasn't fishing for an apology Mycroft. I was simply stating the facts. You know I don't hold what happened against you, I'm just glad we got that second chance."

Mycroft smiled softly, "As am I."

Leaning across the table Gregory caught Mycroft's lips in a kiss and Mycroft briefly wondered how, even all these years later, such a kiss could make his knees weak and render his mind useless. He could feel the heat rush to his cheeks as they pulled a part and he ducked his head slightly in a pointless attempt to hide it.

A finger under his chin gently forced his head back up and Mycroft felt a pair of lips brush against him temple.

"You would not believe how sexy I find that blush Mycroft," Greg purred.

Greg's name left Mycroft's lips on a whisper and he leaned into the touch.

"We have work to do today," Mycroft murmured.

"It can wait," Greg stated simply.

Mycroft knew the argument had already been won but he enjoyed making Greg believe – if only for a moment – that he was not going to concede.

Most of their clothes were already gone before they'd even reached the bedroom. Afterwards they'd complain about the mess they made in their own home but it wouldn't stop the same thing from happening again the next time. Their life together wasn't perfect, but it was at times like that, that Mycroft believed that perfect was something he'd never want/


End file.
